


it's peaceful in the deep

by mediwitch3



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boats and Ships, Disabled Character, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pirates, Sirens, Swordfighting, Swords, The Royal Navy, Trans Male Character, trans!chimney
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediwitch3/pseuds/mediwitch3
Summary: 'cause either way you cannot breathe--no need to pray, no need to speak.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 112
Kudos: 144





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Explicit rating is aspirational
> 
> Tags will be added as this progresses
> 
> Find me on tumblr @michaelgrantnash

Bobby trusts everyone on his ship with his life. Sometimes, though, he wants to throw them overboard.

Buck’s always been a hot head, has a chip on his shoulder to match the one in his leg, and the only person on the ship who keeps him level is his sister. She’s a damn good medic, and Bobby’s happy to have her aboard, but he doesn’t love how Buck clings to her like a duckling.

It doesn’t get better when he brings Eddie on board. They could always do with more medics, and he has combat training and insider knowledge on the navy. He’s a good guy, comes highly recommended from Barty on the docks, who also brought him Chimney, so Bobby’s sure he’s trustworthy, even if he’s unproven.

Buck doesn’t seem to agree.

He hasn’t said it to Bobby (more than once), but he scowls every time Eddie tried to engage with him. Anytime Eddie does anything, really, and while Hen and Chimney think it’s hilarious, Bobby’s getting real tired of it.

They’re a team. They have a common enemy. These are life and death situations, and he can’t have Buck acting like Eddie’s pissed on his shoe if they wind up fighting the actual navy in the middle of the ocean.

“Buck,” he says, dropping into the seat next to him at lunch. It’s not unusual for Bobby to eat with the crew—he finds it’s good for morale. “We have to talk about Eddie.”

Buck glares down into his plate, sopping up whatever sludge Tommy’s served them with a hard crust of bread. “I have nothing to say.”

“You have plenty to say,” Bobby points out, “you don’t like him.”

He doesn’t touch his own lunch yet, wants to be focused. Buck grumbles.

“Didn’t think I had to.”

“Well,” Bobby says slowly, pointedly, “you don’t have to be best friends, but you do have to accept that he’s a part of this team.”

“I just don’t see why we need him,” Buck grunts, and he shoves the whole crust of bread in his mouth. Bobby shoots him a disgusted look.

“There’s 23 men on this ship and four medics,” Bobby tells him, as Buck swallows harshly around the bread and takes a long drink from his goblet, “the odds are stacked against us, having him aboard can’t hurt.”

“It could,” Buck insists, and Bobby sighs as the set of his jaw turns stubborn, “he’s navy.”

“Ex-navy,” Bobby says, “so are you. So am I. You have to let that one go.”

“I don’t trust him,” Buck grumbles. Bobby rolls his eyes.

“I don’t care. He’s a part of this team, you either accept that, or you move on.”

\--

There’s nothing Eddie loves more than the smell of the wind off the open sea. The way the sun glints off the water and browns his skin, the way the salt roughens his hands, the call of gulls overhead when they get too close to land.

It’s why he joined the navy in the first place, before the war. Not for the combat or the glory, but to travel by sea and be untethered to the demands made upon him on land.

He doesn’t have much choice now, though. Leaving Christopher behind when things fell apart was the hardest thing he’s ever done, but they’re both safer with Eddie at sea, where the king can’t find him, and Chris can’t be used against him.

He knows he’s being watched, but he won’t let that deter him. It’s always like this with a new crew—people are wary to trust in this business, and he knows he has to earn it. They’re all on the same team, and they have a job to do.

He just wishes _some_ people weren’t so openly hostile.

“What’s your problem man?”

Buck looks up from where he’s been scrubbing the deck, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and forearms shiny with soapsuds. His brow’s still furrowed with concentration, his eyes a clear blue that remind Eddie of the sea before a storm. He grunts, turning back to scrub a little harder at the deck.

“Nothing.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, plants his hands on his hips in a way that always makes Christopher laugh. “Really? You wanna tell that to the bruise I got on my shoulder from you knocking into me all the time?”

Buck heaves a sigh, slaps the wet rag down and leans back on his knees. He looks Eddie in the eye, cheeks pink from the sun. “You really wanna do this? Fine. _You’re_ my problem. You waltzed in here acting like you run the place, like this is a game, like people aren’t fighting for their _lives_. Hen and Bobby left families behind, Maddie almost died, I almost lost my leg, and you act like _nothing_ bothers you! Like it’s just another day at sea.”

“You think you’re the only ones who lost something?” Eddie asks, angry, “You got a bum leg, Buck, I left my _son_ behind! I’m a war criminal, they could kill him trying to get to me, and I’d never know. I know this isn’t a game, man. I’m just trying to get through it.”

Buck frowns down at his hands, picks at a loose thread in his breeches, “I didn’t know about your son.”

“You never asked,” Eddie says.

Buck heaves a deep sigh. “I don’t know what you want me to say here.”

“I want to know what it’s going to take for you to trust me,” Eddie tells him. Buck shakes his head.

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Eddie lets out a breath, flaps his hands helplessly, “you know where to find me when you figure it out.”

\--

“And _this_ one,” Buck’s saying, “took six hours total—hurt like a mother _fucker_ but I didn’t cry once.”

“Uh huh,” Hen says, and Eddie snorts from where he’s sitting two seats down. She’s obviously heard this before.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” Buck asks, and Eddie’s startled to realize the question is directed at him. He puts his spoon down.

“Nothing, man.” He offers his hands flat in surrender.

Buck turns his whole huge body to face him, eyebrows creased and blue eyes dark in the low light of the mess. “Sounded like something to me.”

“Okay, I’m out,” Hen says, and stands. She dumps her plate in the bin by the end of the table, and Eddie thinks he hears her mutter something about macho posturing.

“I really meant nothing by it,” Eddie insists, keeps his voice even, “her reaction was just funny.”

“Tattoos aren’t a joke,” Buck tells him, and Eddie can’t help the way his eyebrow pops in response, “they hurt and they take time and maintenance.”

“I know that,” Eddie says, “I have a bunch. I wasn’t mocking your tattoos.”

“Wait, you have tattoos?” Buck asks, and he looks eager, suddenly, though his jaw’s still set like he’s fighting it.

“I do,” Eddie informs him, and stands to gather and dump his plate, “I just don’t go around peacocking them to everyone who’ll listen.”

He would regret the harsh words, but the outrage on Buck’s face as Eddie walks away is totally worth it.

\--

It’s peaceful on the sea at night. The moonlight glints across the water and casts odd, silver shadows over the deck. The only sounds the quiet hum of conversation from the night crew and the waves lapping at the sides of the boat.

Eddie likes it up here, leaning against the rails and breathing in the salty air, knowing the crew is all asleep beneath him and he should be too.

But he’s not. He looks into the inky black of the water and misses his son. Misses his wife. Misses his whole life he left behind when they killed her.

Christopher turns eight today.

It’s been a year since Shannon was executed in the town square.

It’s been a year since he’s seen his son.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath against the tears prickling behind his lashes. Has to hold it til his chest loosens and his throat stops aching. Lets it out slowly, opens his eyes to a blurrier landscape, blinks until it returns to normal.

He stares into the pitch black depths that sink below them, feels a part of him sink too. Lets go of his anger and upset and gives it back to the water. Wants to remember his son and be content.

“Happy Birthday, Christopher,” he says.

\--

“What’s Chimney doing?” Eddie asks. Maddie looks up from where she’s counting bandages, turns to look over her shoulder at Chim, who stands at the rail staring into the water. She snorts.

“Probably waiting for Hen to surface,” she tells him, and goes back to what she’s doing like what she’s just said makes any sense.

“I don’t know what that means,” he says. Maddie’s hair is tied at her neck with a ribbon, one long strand loose and pasted to her neck with sweat from sitting in the sun.

“Hen’s the only one who can dive.”

Eddie feels a bit frustrated at the lack of information; getting anything out of anyone on this boat is like pulling teeth. “Why is she diving?”

Maddie hums, stacks the bandages and claps them against her little table, makes a note in her ledger and then dumps them in the bin at her feet. “She thinks something got stuck in the rudder during the last storm, so she went to check it out. Chim gets worried every time she goes under—says it’s some kind of witchcraft she can hold her breath that long.”

“Oh,” Eddie murmurs, and gets lost for a minute. Watches Chimney lean over the railing to catch a glimpse of Hen, must see her because he waves his hand and shouts down to her.

Maddie’s watching him when he looks at her again, her brown eyes soft and round in her pale face. She and Buck both spend as much time in the sun as the rest of them, yet they never seem to catch any color other than pink. She raises a brow. “What’s on your mind?”

He clears his throat, isn’t sure how much he should say. “My wife.”

“I didn’t know you were married.”

“I’m not. She died,” he tells her, and feels it well up in his chest again.

Maddie makes a soft noise, a quite “oh.”

Eddie sighs. “She was a siren.”

“Eddie,” Maddie says, “you don’t have to tell me.”

“No it’s—“ He cuts himself off, takes a breath and scrubs a hand over his mouth. His stubble is rough against his palm. “We didn’t tell anyone, but everyone in our village—they knew. You can tell, usually, by their eyes or their hair—and Shannon never used her Song on me, she wasn’t like that, didn’t use it on anyone—but they have this quality to them. I don’t know if you’ve seen one before—“

“I haven’t, I don’t think,” Maddie murmurs. Eddie nods, picks at the string of his pants.

“You’d know,” he tells her, “But you know, when the king decided to make them the enemy, I was at sea. She was at home with our son, and no one on my crew knew what she was. I watched them execute people like her too many times, stayed quiet and just let them run rampant.”

He stops. He hasn’t talked about this to anyone—he ran so hard and so long that it was easier to stay quiet. Maddie’s eyes are shining when he looks up at her, and another loop of hair has escaped her ribbon, resting against her cheek. He looks away.

“You know what the king does to defectors,” he says, and she nods, lifts a hand to bush the stray hair behind her ear, “but I had to protect my family. We got my son somewhere safe, but she couldn’t be that far from the sea—they go mad if they’re too far inland, you know. They were waiting for me when I got back.”

“How did you escape?” She asks, and her voice is raw like she’s holding back tears.

“I didn’t,” he sighs, “not at first anyway. They made me watch.”

“Oh, Eddie,” she sounds so sad, like she’s actually sorry for him.

“It’s been almost a year,” he murmurs, “and I can still see her face when she died.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. He looks up at her again, sees a tear slip down her face. He marvels at how easily she cries for him.

There’s a loud splash farther up the deck, and Eddie turns towards the noise to see Chimney helping Hen over the railing, soaked and dripping all over the wood beneath her. She’s holding a mass of seaweed in her hand, and Chim’s gesturing excitedly at it. Maddie sighs behind him, and he glances over to see her wiping her tears away.

“I’d better go see what that’s about,” she says, standing. She comes in front of him and looks him in the eye. “Thank you for telling me about your wife. We’re glad to have you aboard, Eddie, but I’m sorry it was at such great cost to you.”

He gives her a grim smile, and she pats his arm with a small hand. He watches her walk away, Chimney’s gestures getting even larger as she approaches. He heaves a heavy breath, and turns to find Buck watching him, just a few feet away. He looks odd, mop held loosely in his hand, and Eddie wonders how much he heard.

\--

The ship is large, even far away as it is, and unmistakably navy. It’s not flying any flags, at least not that Eddie can see through his scope from the deck, but the hull is painted a dark blue that causes Eddie’s heart to stutter in a visceral reaction he can’t quite contain.

He looks over at Buck, who’d been helping him repair a few of the planks on the starboard side when the call came down, and he looks about like Eddie feels—namely: nauseous. He doesn’t know Buck’s history with the navy, just that it’s how he hurt his leg, and that he and Bobby both defected years ago from the same crew. They haven’t encountered the navy yet while Eddie’s been aboard—it’s only been a few months—but this is what he’s here for. This is what they’re all here for.

They have a few hours before they’ll meet the other ship, and the entire crew spends it completely silent. The air aboard is somber, as though they’re heading for the gallows, and nobody dares make a noise but to prepare their weapons.

Eddie sits on a crate, sharpens sword, and waits.

\--

Eddie can’t see through the blur of bodies moving on the deck in front of him. There’s an endless cacophony around him, a constant clanging and shouting and squelching.

He runs his opponent through, dumps him on the deck and moves on, has to keep moving to keep living.

He thrusts a dagger in the back of the guy Tommy’s fighting, watches him fall to the ground and gets a nod from him before they both move on to the next.

Eddie’s arms move of their own accord, block-thrust-stab, bodies dropping like flies around him, a haze settling into his mind and controlling his muscles.

He thinks they might be winning this fight. He drops his next partner and moves on again.

He stops when he sees Buck pressed against the railing and struggling, sees his leg buckling, sees a gash in his side weeping over his shirt, goes on autopilot to help him. He has to drop two more bodies before he gets to Buck, tosses his dagger to Hen who catches it and throws it in the back of the man Maddie’s fending off.

Buck’s on the ground by the time he reaches him, on one knee, sword up and biceps straining. Eddie doesn’t think twice before he runs him through, hauls Buck up, panting and sweating and bloody, and drags him back to the plank so they can go back to their ship.

The others can handle it, he has to get Buck to safety.

He lets Buck go first, goes close behind him with his hands on his waist to steady him as he limps across, offers Buck a hand so he can drop onto the deck.

Buck slumps against the side of the boat immediately, and Eddie hesitates. Buck looks up at him, blue eyes bright and face pink, drenched with sweat from head to toe, lashes casting shadows on his cheek bones. He makes a limp gesture, offering Eddie a seat. He takes it, gingerly. Now that he’s not moving, all his muscles ache, and he’s tired.

He’s very tired.

When he wakes, it’s to blood dripping into his eye from a cut on his brow. His hair is matted with sweat and sticking nastily to his forehead. Buck sits beside him, worn and heaving breaths in time with the rocking of the boat. He can’t have fallen asleep for more than a few minutes.

It’s too hot under the sun, and Buck’s shoulder is sticking to his with his own sweat and blood. He can hear an intermittent splashing, which must be Bobby and Chim and Tommy hurling bodies overboard on the other ship. Maddie and Hen are aboard, and they have Sal between them, always huge and imposing, with a belt between his teeth as they attempt to pull a dagger out of his shoulder.

Buck makes a moaning sound beside him, shifts so their shoulders press more tightly together for a brief moment before he pulls away and stands. He sways a moment, squinting up at the clear blue sky, before he turns to offer a hand down to Eddie.

Eddie’s shocked, takes it, lets Buck pull him to his feet. The moment stretches on between them, and Eddie doesn’t let go until Buck does. He starts to turn away, but Eddie lurches forward to grab him. Has to affirm that they’ve built a truce.

“You’re badass under pressure, brother,” he says, keeps his voice soft and gentle so he doesn’t spook Buck, wants to keep him close, “you could have my back any day.”

“Yeah?” Buck’s glowing, pink cheeked and pink skinned from the sun with a rip in his shirt where someone nicked him, his eyes the same color as the sea and sky, and Eddie can’t breathe. “Or you know, you could—you could have mine.”

Eddie feels his mouth split open on a grin. “You got it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on tumblr @michaelgrantnash

Eddie wakes with a jolt.

For a moment he doesn’t know what woke him, the boat mostly quiet and swaying rhythmically, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Then he hears it again, a high pitched whining coming from below him. He rolls, the hammock folding as it releases him, and he hits the ground on bare feet. Buck’s bunk is below his—a point of contention for a while, honestly—and he’s pale and sweaty when Eddie’s eyes are able to focus on him in the dark.

There’s a single sliver of moonlight over Buck’s face, peaking in from the porthole on the west side and casting him silver. His shoulders are shaking and his mouth is open wide.

Eddie steps forward, not thinking clearly through the haze of sleep still lingering around his eyes, and places a hand on Buck’s shoulder. He’s not wearing a shirt—most of them don’t, it’s hot in the bunks—and his skin is sleep-warm and soft, and Eddie digs his fingers into the flesh, shakes until Buck’s eyes pop open.

He looks wild, and his face is damp—not from sweat, Eddie realizes suddenly, but from tears. His chest is heaving, and he looks around, lifting an arm to touch his own face and dislodging Eddie’s hand.

“What’s going on?” He asks roughly, and Eddie watches his tongue dart out to lick his lips.

“You were crying,” Eddie tells him, his voice coming out soft and rumbling, “Let’s get some air.”

Buck swallows, digs a knuckle into his eye and nods, swings his legs over his hammock and lands like a cat on two feet, completely silent.

His leg buckles immediately.

Eddie lurches forward to grab him before he hits the ground, shoves Buck’s arm over his shoulder so he can prop him up. Buck looks down at him, eyes shocked and wounded.

“Come on,” Eddie murmurs.

It only takes Buck a moment to get his sea legs back, and they stumble out of the bunks together as quietly as they can. Eddie closes the door behind them, Chimney’s snores cutting off as soon as the latch clicks.

Eddie grabs a crate from the top of the stairs, plunks it down a few feet away from the door to the cabin, nods to Sal waving at them from the crows nest, and gestures for Buck to sit. He does, heavily, and stretches his left leg out in front of him, passing a hand down his thigh over and over to the same rhythm the boat sways to. Eddie leans his arms on the railing, stares out over the water and counts the stars while he waits for Buck to speak.

It’s a long time before he does, just leans his head next to Eddie’s hands and closes his eyes and breathes. Eddie counts his breaths too, matches them to his own.

When Buck does speak, it’s quiet and a little raw. “I was dreaming about my leg.”

“What happened?” Eddie asks. He thinks Buck wants to tell him.

Buck hums, presses harder into his thigh on his next pass. “You know the carriages they have on the docks, for pulling freight?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, clasps his hands together tight around the feeling of fear in his chest.

“Bobby and I were out, getting supplies while some repairs were done on the ship, and our old navy captain showed up,” he says, “they weren’t supposed to make land for another month, but our intel must have been wrong. We ran.”

He blows out a long breath, steadying himself. Eddie can’t tear his eyes away from him. “I lost Bobby at some point, and Wells had me. I was on my knees in the street with a sword at my neck—“

His voice breaks, and Eddie turns without thinking, kneels beside Buck and tucks a hand into the crease of his elbow. Buck doesn’t look at him, but his free hand stops pressing into his thigh, comes up to cover Eddie’s hand on his arm. He swallows, and Eddie watches his Adam’s Apple bob.

“The driver couldn’t see me over the horses’ heads,” Buck continues, “they did, they reared up and tried to go around me. The way they screamed—sometimes I can still hear it. But my leg ended up under the wheel anyway; those things are huge, almost as big as me, and have to weigh twice as much, not to mention the weight of the freight on the back.

“I don’t know what happened after that—I passed out and woke up on the boat with Maddie and Hen wrapping my leg. There wasn’t much they could do to salvage functionality.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say to that, just squeezes Buck’s elbow and lets Buck squeeze back, holding tight while he comes back down after reliving that nightmare.

They sit in silence for a long time.

Eventually, Cobb comes up from the bunks, still pulling his shirt over his head. He pauses when he sees them, raises a brow at Eddie, who shakes his head. Cobb shrugs, his sparse red hair glinting grey in the moonlight, and he makes his way over to the crow’s nest to relieve Sal.

Sal doesn’t acknowledge them as he passes them on the way to the bunks, yawning into his hand as he goes. Each time the door opens Chimney’s snores pierce the air for a brief moment.

“I get nightmares too,” Eddie says finally. Buck’s blue eyes snap to his, washed out in the light of the moon and so clear Eddie swears he can see through them. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, reveals the starburst scar on his chest where he was pierced by an arrow during his capture. “I was shot in three places the night they killed my wife. Sometimes I feel like they’re still inside me.”

“I’m sorry about your wife,” Buck tells him. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat.

“I’m sorry about your leg,” he answers. Licks his lips, lets his eyes flick over to the door. “Do you want to go back down?”

“Can we just stay up here a while?” Buck asks, voice small and totally at odds with his enormous frame. “Sometimes when I’m down there—it’s too easy to still feel trapped.”

“We can stay out here as long as you want,” Eddie says. He lets his hand fall from Buck’s elbow so he can stand again and prop himself back up against the rail.

He lets himself stand close enough for Buck’s shoulder to press into his leg, and Buck doesn’t move away.

\--

“Buck, can you give me a hand?” Eddie calls. The beams are heavy, and he still has a ways to go.

They took a couple hits during their fight with the navy, and while it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, they have some repairs to do before the next storm inevitably rolls in.

Eddie’s just grateful they’re not bad enough they have to dock to fix them. They’ll make land in four days to resupply, but the less time they spend there the better.

Buck looks up from where he’s been sorting nails at Maddie’s feet, and moves to stand, nodding. Maddie watches him struggle to his feet, hands stilling where she was writing in her ledger.

“Buck,” she murmurs, “too heavy.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up of their own accord, taking in the way Buck hesitates, face flushing.

“He can do it,” Eddie says. Buck looks between them, as though unsure what to do in this situation. “Buck, you’re fine. Grab that end.”

Buck glances at Maddie, who looks worried still, but he shrugs. He cheeks still look suspiciously pink, but he bends to lift the other end of the beams and straightens again with ease.

It takes them some time to get where they’re going, Buck’s limp more prominent as he strains under the beams, but he doesn’t seem to be truly struggling at all.

His biceps are huge under his tight shirt.

Eddie watches a bead of sweat make its way down the side of Buck’s neck, slipping inside the collar of his shirt and disappearing. His mouth feels inexplicably dry.

“Where do you want them?” Buck asks.

Eddie nods to a spot next to the hole in the railing. “Just there is fine.”

They set the planks down, and Eddie drags over the bucket of nails and the hammer he’d left there earlier. Buck helps him hold planks steady while he hammers them in, stays quiet while Eddie works. Eddie glances over at him occasionally, wondering how to word what he wants to say.

“My son has a movement disorder,” he settles on. Buck’s eyes flick over to him, startled and so so blue. “He was born like that, but it doesn’t stop him from most things. His mother—she blamed herself for it, thought it was because he was—“

He cuts himself off, disgust curdling in his stomach, swallows around the nasty taste in his mouth.

“A _half-breed_ ,” he spits, breathes deeply through his nose, “her people don’t usually mate with humans, so it’s hard to know how it affects breeding and—she loved him, I know that, but there was always a guilt that he wasn’t perfect or right like her and I—“

He looks Buck in the eyes, wants to be extremely clear. “There’s nothing wrong with my son. Does he have a harder time with some things? Yes. But he _is_ perfect, just as he is. I don’t know what Maddie’s deal is, and I’m sure it comes from a good place, but there’s nothing wrong with you, Buck. You know your limits, and you shouldn’t let her dictate what you can and can’t do just because she’s worried about you.”

Buck swallows, looks down at his hands where he’s steadying the beam Eddie’s paused in attaching. He’s quiet for a moment, and Eddie goes back to what he’s doing to let Buck process.

He attaches two more planks before Buck finally speaks. “Sometimes it feels like I’ll never be whole again.”

Eddie, who wasn’t quite expecting that, has to move fast to avoid hitting his thumb with the hammer. He gives Buck a look.

“There’s nothing broken about you,” he tells him, “being different doesn’t make you less. Your value isn’t tied to your leg, Buck.”

Buck pauses. Lifts another beam for Eddie. “Tell me about your son.”

Eddie beams, can’t help it. “His name’s Christopher, he’s eight years old, and he’s the best person I know.”

He hammers in a nail, watches the smile curling Buck’s lips and crinkling Buck’s eyes. “We lived in a little town by the sea, and he loved being on the beach. I’d take him down and he’d just sit and play in the sand for hours. His mother took him swimming everyday, and she was teaching him to Sing. We didn’t know if he’d even have a Song, because he’s mostly human, but I loved hearing him try.”

“You miss him,” Buck murmurs. Eddie sighs.

“All the time.”

\--

It’s riveting to watch Hen and Buck play chess. Eddie knows Buck’s smart—you don’t survive long in this business if you’re not—but the strategic mind he displays when playing chess is not something Eddie would have expected.

He usually wins about half the games they play, and is hilariously competitive—and so is Hen.

“How dare you!” She roars, as Buck takes her bishop. Buck smirks, placing it delicately to the side with two fingers.

“Alls fair in love and war,” he tells her, and Eddie snorts behind him. Buck beams up at him, warmth suffusing Eddie’s chest. Buck hasn’t had a nightmare since their talk, has seemed upbeat, and Eddie’s grateful.

His next two moves take a pawn and her remaining knight. Hen’s cheeks are glowing with barely suppressed rage.

“Check,” he declares, and plunks her knight in his graveyard.

“I’ll kill you,” she hisses, and moves her king. He blows her a kiss. Eddie gets distracted from the next four moves watching Buck’s pink pink mouth.

“Check mate!” He cheers, and Chimney groans from a few feet away.

“Pay up!” Eddie hears Maddie yell. Hen’s face is in her hands.

\--

“Why is Maddie so nervous?” Eddie whispers. They make land in an hour, and she’s been pacing the deck for the last two.

“There’s a girl on the docks,” Buck whispers back, leaning in so his breath echoes across Eddie’s ear, “her name’s Ali, she always helps us stock medical. Maddie’s had a thing for her for two years.”

“Two _years_?” Eddie asks, forgetting to keep his voice low, “what the hell is stopping her?”

“She’s a chicken,” Buck shrugs, “but it is hilarious to watch.”

“ _I_ said she should just make a move,” Hen says, approaching from the left to join the gawking, “but no one ever listens to me.”

“That’s ’cause you’ve been married for ten years,” Buck informs her, “you don’t remember what it’s like.”

“What’s it like, Buck?” She retorts. The curve of her mouth is smug, lips painted a dark red. Buck turns pink, blue eyes narrowing in a glare.

“Don’t be rude,” he says.

Eddie glances between them. “Am I missing something?”

“Nope.” Hen pops the ’p’, eyes shining. “You can come with us to get medical if you want—Buck’s right, watching Maddie fall over herself _is_ hilarious.”

“Uh, sure,” he glances up at Buck again, “sounds good.”

\--

Eddie always hates docking. It’s no surprise, given his fugitive status, but it’s not as though they can exist solely at sea. Most of the crew are fugitives too, which is a blessing and a curse, but for the most part the dock workers keep their mouths shut. The trouble really comes when they dock at the wrong time—but Bobby’s got the navy’s schedules posted in his cabin, and he updates it with Barty every time they make land.

Buck’s not coming down with them—it’s hard for him to get down the ladder with his leg, and now, knowing how he hurt it, Eddie understands why he’s avoided making the effort to come down with them before. He’ll wait aboard while a handful of them run their errands.

Tommy and Sal are off to restock their food supply—salted meats and dried fruits and fresh water by the barrel—and Chimney’s going with Bobby to collect the mail from Barty and gather whatever intel the old man has for them. Eddie, Hen, and Maddie are off to resupply medical.

Maddie leads the way through the busy street, people shouting and tossing fish over their heads and bartering for goods around them,and she clutches her ledger to her chest with white knuckled hands. Hen’s been smirking at her since they got boots on the ground.

Eddie’s very curious when they stop in front of the door to the medical supply shop, Maddie’s shoulders straightening under her white tunic and her hair loose against her back. They stand there for a minute, unmoving, and Eddie glances at Hen.

She rolls her eyes. “Maddie, for fuck’s sake.”

She shoves past her to open the door, a bell tinkling over their heads, Maddie glaring at her back. Eddie snorts, pats her shoulder and moves past her into the shop.

It’s a low stone building, cool and damp inside. There’s dried herbs hanging by bunches on one wall, crates with sachets stationed underneath them. There’s one window on the opposite wall, cross-paned and letting in enough light to see by without torches. It offers a full view of the docks and the people milling around outside. There’s more crates under it, full of jars with salves and knots of bandages in varying lengths.

A woman steps out of an open door behind the counter, brown hair cropped by her chin and brown eyes bright. She has a straight nose and a sharp chin, high cheekbones tinged with rouge. She’s pretty, Eddie can see why Maddie likes her. There’s an odd quality to her, though, to her skin or her eyes that Eddie can’t quite put his finger on.

“Hi,” she says brightly, pushes her hair behind her ear. Maddie opens her mouth, a weak noise coming out before she manages her own greeting. Ali’s eye’s crinkle at her in a smile. “Back again, are we?”

He watches Ali closely, the way her hands move, the way she talks. Her tunic opens a little at her chest, revealing a thin silver chain with a pendant Eddie’s seen before.

“Oh,” he says aloud, and three pairs of brown eyes turn to look at him. He shifts uncomfortably. Hen’s standing at the counter, having taken Maddie’s ledger and is pointing something out to Ali. Her finger’s frozen where it points.

“Eddie?” Maddie asks. She looks nervous. He shakes his head at her, doesn’t want to alarm anyone.

“Sorry, it’s nothing,” he tells her. Ali meets his eyes when he looks up at her, and he can see in the set of her mouth that she knows what he’s understood about her.

He waits until they’re done, until they’ve gathered what they need and Maddie and Hen are moving crates outside to the carriage they’ve hailed, to pull Ali aside, a hand on her elbow.

“Are you safe here?” He asks her, a little frantic. She looks at him, closely.

“How did you know?” She asks instead. “No one’s ever known.”

“My wife was like you,” he says quietly, “the pendent—she had one too. They killed her. Are you _safe_ here?”

“Yes,” she answers. She flicks her eyes over to the open door where Maddie stands with Hen, heaving crates up. “I’m only half—they won’t come after me.”

Eddie sighs, releases her arm. Her tunic is slightly rumpled. “They might. You have to be careful, and be ready to get out. Do you know Barty?”

“Fishmonger Barty?” She asks, confused. He nods.

“If you get into trouble, find him. He’ll help you.”

She bites her lip. “Okay. Thank you.”

He gives her another nod, pats her on the shoulder, and gathers the last crate to go help Maddie and Hen load the carriage.

\--

Buck bounds up as soon as Eddie swings his leg over the railing, crates being pulled up on ropes by James and Gary a few feet away from the ladder.

“How’d it go?” Buck asks, and Eddie gets caught again on his blue eyes, matching the color of the sky exactly. He blinks.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yeah, fine,” Eddie shrugs, “Maddie _is_ a chicken.”

Buck’s grin is blinding, straight-toothed and shiny. “Told you.”

Eddie offers him his own smile, feels a little soft around the edges looking at him. It was odd not to see him today. “What’d you do today?”

Buck chatters away as they move further onto the ship, and Eddie feels warm in his chest, nods along and answers Buck when the situation warrants it, but feels like he’s basking in his presence. The sun beats down on them from above and turns Buck’s hair golden, like a halo.

“Anyway, I can’t _wait_ for dinner, I’m so sick of oatmeal,” Buck says. Eddie nods.

“I know, the best part of docking is two weeks of fresh meals,” he agrees.

They make their way towards the mess, descending the stairs into the low-lit room. It’s still empty but for Bobby and Chimney, who are speaking in low tones on the far end of the room. Chimney looks up when they enter, cutting off mid-sentence. Bobby turns to look at them over his shoulder.

“Boys,” he says. Eddie raises an eyebrow.

“Everything alright?” He asks slowly. Buck glances over at him, a tiny worried furrow between his brows.

“Well, since you asked,” Bobby sighs, and turns fully to face them, a grim look marring his features, “Barty says there haven’t been any public executions since we last docked.”

“Isn’t that good news?” Buck says, and tilts his head like an over-large dog.

“No,” Chimney says, “People have started disappearing instead.”

“Disappearing?” Eddie feels lightheaded.

“The king’s declared war on Aldonia,” Bobby says, voice dour, “It seems sirens are no longer a threat; he’s decided they’re an asset, and he wants an army.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @michaelgrantnash

Dinner that night is a somber affair.

Bobby announces to the crew at large the intel Barty gave them, and the mood—which had been relatively upbeat after they looted the navy ship—turns sour.

Eddie feels numb, feels robbed, honestly, because for a moment he felt like things were finally getting better, like he was getting a handle on things, and now—

He has to go get Christopher. He has to make sure he’s okay, can’t just sit here not knowing if his son’s dead or—

He doesn’t want to think about it.

Hen’s sitting across from him, picking at her food and ignoring Chimney’s attempts to engage her in conversation. She hasn’t said anything in a long time.

Eddie hasn’t either. Buck’s next to him, steady and calm, though he keeps pressing over his bad leg, like it hurts, like a tick. He’s eating, carefully and slowly, shooting glances at Hen like he’s trying to model a behavior he wants her to mimic.

”Hen,” Maddie says when she finally sits down, “I talked to Bobby.”

“You did?” Hen looks a little dazed when she looks up at Maddie. Maddie nods, spearing a potato with her fork.

“He has to think about it, but I think he’s going to cave. He said he’ll call a meeting in a few days, once we’re not all so emotional about it.”

Eddie frowns, leans around Buck’s huge body to look at Maddie. “Think about what?”

Maddie looks at him, brown eyes worried, glances back to Hen. “Um—”

“Think about going to get my wife,” Hen murmurs, and Eddie nearly snaps his neck to look at her. His breath freezes in his lungs.

“Why would—” he can’t breathe, has to put a hand on his heart to make sure it’s still beating. Something’s happening here that his body knows but his mind is having trouble catching up.

“My wife’s a siren,” Hen says, her eyes shining in the low light of the mess, one tear escaping and sliding down her cheek, “I have to go get her.”

Something rises up in Eddie’s throat, chokes him, and he can’t see. He doesn’t think, stands and bolts before he vomits over the table.

He barely makes it to the deck, heaves himself over the railing and empties his stomach into the sea. It stings his throat and his nose, his eyes streaming, and he gasps a breath before he heaves again.

A tiny hand touches his back, and he flinches, shuddering and vomiting a third time. The hand moves to his hair, cool as it soothes his sweaty strands.

“Her wife,” he says, struggling for breath, “her wife is a siren?”

“She is,” Maddie tells him quietly. Passes her hand through his hair again, touches the back of his neck with gentle fingers.

He swallows around the bile threatening to rise again, turns and slumps on the floor against the side of the boat. Maddie sits next to him, says nothing as he puts his head in his hands and tries to breathe.

“I have to go get my son,” Eddie tells her, “I thought he was safer without me, but I can’t—I have to protect him and I can’t do that from here.”

Maddie hums, and he inhales deeply, tastes acid on his tongue.

“I have to go get him, Maddie,” he insists, and feels insane, lifts his head to look at her with wild eyes. She sighs, reaches out with her small hand to catch the tear slipping from the corner of his eye with her thumb.

“If that’s how you feel, you should come to the meeting with Bobby,” she says, “I’m sure something can be worked out. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

He sucks one in, lets his chest expand around it and holds it. “Good, breathe out.”

She guides him through a few more, her voice low and soothing, her hand still gentle on his face, until he feels more settled in his skin. She gives him a little smile, her eyes brown and soft under thick lashes.

“Are you okay?” She asks.

He nods, looking away.

She watches him for a minute. “Buck was worried about you.”

Eddie slides his eyes back over to her. “He was?”

“You ran out of there like the room was on fire,” she points out, smirking now, “of course he was.”

He swallows, mouth dry. “Oh.”

“He would have come up, but,” she shrugs, “I’ve found that sometimes men don’t want to be seen by each other in situations like these.”

He snorts, some of his humor coming back. “You thought I needed a womanly touch?”

“Maybe,” she rolls her eyes, still smiling, “or maybe _I_ was worried about you too.”

\--

Buck wakes up angry.

The cabin is dark, and Chimney’s still snoring loudly, but he knows it’s morning by the weak light casting grey shadows on the floor. He suspects he has at least an hour until breakfast, but he knows he won’t be going back to sleep at this point.

His leg hurts.

There’s the ache lacing down his shin and wrapping around his ankle, and the cramp clutching the hinge of his hip. Something’s throbbing behind his knee.

Contrary to what a lot of his crew-mates believe, Buck isn’t in pain all the time. Mostly, his leg’s just stiff, doesn’t respond well to commands, and occasionally twinges when he’s in one position too long. Most days, he’s fine.

Some days, like today, apparently, he wakes up hurting and in a sour mood, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Sometimes it’s the rain, or too much exertion the day before, but some days? It just hurts. No rhyme or reason.

He stares at the curve of Eddie’s back denting the hammock above him, breathes deeply through his nose. His own hammock rocks gently, and there’s a blanket wrapped around his bad foot. He can’t kick it off. He’s sweaty, because it’s summer and there’s one stupid window in this room full of people sleeping and breathing and radiating heat, and he wants to move but—today might be a day he needs help to get out of the hammock.

The thought embitters him. He _hates_ asking for help.

Eddie shifts above him, the hammock rocking almost violently as he rolls over. He makes a snoring noise, and one arm drops down over the side and dangles by Buck’s face. Buck tries not to cry at how easily Eddie moves.

He lays there, chest hot and tight, for what feels like hours. Waits for someone to get up and ask him if he’s okay, so he can say _no, can you help me?_ which feels less helpless than asking outright.

No one does.

The bunks clear out, and no one looks his way. He watches Chimney and Tommy leave together, watches Jonathan and Sal and Cobbs and Jeff, watches them leave and not glance his way. Starts feeling afraid that he’ll have to lay here and wait until Maddie comes looking for him.

Then Eddie grunts, rolls like a cat and lands with a thump on his feet next to Buck’s face. Stretches his arms high over his head, the back of his hair mussed and the muscles of his back taught. He turns, smiling, to look at Buck, arms still raised and breeches low on his hips. Buck can see the scar on his chest Eddie showed him all those nights ago, sees tattoos on his arms and has to breathe slowly and carefully through his nose at how strong he looks—a perfect contradiction to Buck’s weak and broken body.

He must see something in Buck’s face, because the smile slides off his face in an instant. His eyebrows dip low over his dark eyes, mouth curving down in concern.

“Buck?” He asks, voice still hoarse from sleep. “Are you okay?”

Buck swallows, thinks his eyes might be a bit red. “Can you help me?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot back up, kiss his hairline. “Of course.”

He reaches out for Buck, and Buck reaches back, struggles to sit up so Eddie can help him haul himself out of the hammock. His foot’s still caught on the blanket, and it pulls his leg oddly. He bites his lip, suppressing a whimper.

“Can you—grab that,” he already feels like he’s been running, breaths heaving. Eddie releases his hands, gently unravels the blanket from Buck’s foot and carefully pulls his leg over the edge of the hammock, sets his foot on the floor. Buck steadies himself on Eddie’s shoulder to maneuver himself up onto his feet. He tips his head back and breathes for a moment, steels himself, then takes a step.

It hurts, in his ankle and his shin and his knee and his hip, each joint protesting the weight of his body, and he feels himself sweating more. Eddie’s hands are hovering, eyes dark and concerned.

“Buck—“

“I’m fine,” Buck snaps, feels guilty but doesn’t take it back. Eddie nods, watching him carefully, then pulls a shirt out of Buck’s trunk for him. Gets his own out too.

“I’ll see you at breakfast, then,” Eddie says. Waits a moment, as though expecting Buck to do anything other than avert his eyes and nod, ashamed for being angry, and ashamed for asking for help. He sighs, pulls his shirt over his head, and leaves Buck alone in the now empty room.

\--

Buck’s already tired, has been since before he got up, and it doesn’t help that he’s the only one struggling.

It’s hot out here in the sun, and he wants to take his shirt off, wants to roll up his pants so his skin can breathe, but he can’t stomach the idea of people seeing his scars.

Eddie and Chimney have taken their shirts off, scars on display without a single care. He can see the x on Eddie’s chest, and a matching one on his stomach, knows the story hurts Eddie to think about but clearly doesn’t stop him from baring the marks for all to see.

Chimney’s got two thin scars on his chest, bright and white under the sun, from his surgery years ago, before Buck met him. He’s always been proud to bare them, proud to bear them too, loves to joke about the weight lifting off his chest when he finally got it done, and Buck loves him, but he can’t stand hearing about anything weighing him down.

They both look strong, muscles shifting under skin that’s been browned by the sun, golden everywhere Buck can see, and Buck _hates_ them.

He steps up when Chim reaches for the rope tied to the base of one of the cannons they’ve been moving. Every couple of weeks they have to be moved so the deck can be cleaned and they can be serviced, otherwise they won’t be any use when they’re needed. Eddie’s holding the other rope, as they’re too heavy to move on their own, but Buck opens a hand to take the rope from Chim.

Chim hesitates, glances at Eddie who’s not really paying attention, just bracing his feet and testing the weight while he waits.

“Buck, are you sure?” Chimney asks, his eyes worried. Buck sucks a breath, tries to keep a lid on the anger simmering beneath his skin.

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure,” he insists, offering his hand again. Chimney sighs, places the rope in his hand and takes a few steps back.

“Ready, Buck?” Eddie says. Buck nods, braces his feet, and pulls.

He barely makes it one step before his leg buckles.

His knees hit the floor heavily, and he grunts. The rope slips from his fingers, and he can’t help he way he pounds the deck with his fists, frustration welling and spilling over in fits and bursts. He can’t get up.

Small hands close under his arm, wrapping tight around his bicep. He looks up at his sister, her hair plaited back and trailing over her shoulder, tied off with a blue ribbon. She looks scared.

He lets her pull him up, because he can’t do it himself, but as soon as he’s back on his feet he wrenches his arm from her grasp, can’t bear to be touched by her.

She looks wounded. “Buck.”

“Don’t,” he snaps. Her lips part.

“ _Don’t?_ You could have seriously hurt yourself! What the hell were you thinking, you _know_ that’s too heavy for you!”

“Hurt myself?” He asks, incredulous rage leaping into his mouth like bile, “I’m already hurt! Look at my leg, Maddie.”

“Buck, I—“

“ _Look_ at it,” he shouts, “ _Look at it._ It’s useless to me. You should have just fucking cut it off when you had the chance—at least a peg bears weight.”

He doesn’t look at her as he turns to storm off, can’t even do that right, has to limp away like a child who’s stubbed his toe.

He’s hiding in the bunks when Bobby inevitably finds him. He’s not sitting, though he wishes he could be, knows he’d never get back up if he did, can’t fathom asking for more help today. Instead, he’s propped up against the wall, neck craned so he can stare out the porthole at the waves lapping at the side of the boat. The sun shines brightly down on the sea, but it’s on the other side, so Buck can look into the water below without being blinded.

“Heard about about what happened on the deck,” Bobby says. His voice is ever even, deep and echoing in the empty room. Buck doesn’t look at him, doesn’t respond, just keeps his eyes trained on the sea. “Buck, why did you try to move that cannon?”

Buck picks at the windowsill, loosening a splinter with his thumbnail. “I thought I could do it.”

“Did you?” Bobby asks, “or did you just want to prove you could?”

Buck grits his teeth, pops his jaw. Doesn’t respond.

Bobby sighs. “Where’s the cane?”

Buck does look up at that, chest hot and tight, feels like he’s breathing fire when he huffs a breath out of his nose. “I’m not using that thing.”

“Buck,” Bobby shakes his head, takes a step forward, moves too easily for Buck to feel settled watching him, “You know I usually don’t care—but you’re obviously having a bad day, and there’s no shame in it.”

“Says _you,_ ” Buck says, knowing it sounds childish, “you’ve got two functional legs.”

“Yes,” Bobby agrees, “but you’re the only one on this boat who thinks you have to do everything the same way as everyone else to keep up. I’m sending you to the kitchen for the rest of the day—“

“Bobby—“

“It’s not a punishment, Buck,” Bobby puts up a hand, and his mouth stays relaxed, “but you need to rest the leg, and Red could use the help. You can take the cane, or you can sit when you get there, but you’re done running yourself ragged.”

\--

“What’d you do this time?” Red asks. It’s hot in the kitchens, and as much as Buck likes Red, he hates being down here.

There are two portholes on the wall, for ventilation, but the stove is almost always lit and no amount of ventilation will stop the humidity that escapes the pots and clogs Buck’s lungs.

“Nothing,” Buck grumbles, leans heavily on the cane as he limps over to the table, “it’s not a punishment.”

“Sure,” Red says, “and I’m twenty-two.”

Buck rolls his eyes, lets his cane clatter to the floor and maneuvers himself onto the bench. “Just give me something to do.”

“Chop those carrots, they go in the pot,” Red says. He’s doing something to a chicken Buck doesn’t want to know about.

He stays quiet, does as he’s told. His leg still hurts, but at least that won’t hinder him completing this task.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I went cliff diving in Santa Avila with Monty and Jones?”

Buck doesn’t look at him, doesn’t want to admit he’s a little curious, so he keeps his eyes on the knife as he cuts. “I don’t think so.”

Red goes off on his story, gesturing wildly with his own knife, chicken carcass dancing as he moves. One story slips into another, Red’s voice filling the empty spaces in the kitchen and inside Buck, until Buck forgets that he was mad, forgets that his leg still aches, and laughs until he’s gasping.

It ends up taking a while to finish dinner, because they’re both distracted, but Buck feels lighter. His leg still hurts, but Red let him lift the flour sack onto the table and didn’t make him use the cane to go get it, so he feels a little—less trapped in his own body.

He honestly forgets that they’re not alone on the ship, so it’s a bit of a shock when Chimney wanders in to help ferry dinner across to the mess. He glances at the cane Buck’s left forgotten on the floor, but he doesn’t say anything, just accepts a tray of plates and leaves again.

Buck stays in the kitchen until he can’t anymore, follows Red into the mess with his own plate in one hand and the cane in the other. Red sits with Sal and Tommy and Cobb, and Buck tags along, doesn’t want to see Maddie and Eddie and Chimney and the pity that will inevitably mar their faces when they see him using the cane.

He stays mostly quiet while he eats, overwhelmed, suddenly, by the amount of noise in the room and the _people_ surrounding him, bursting the little bubble he’d had in the kitchen with Red.

It doesn’t take long for Maddie to seek him out.

She plops onto the bench next to him, leans her elbow on the table. “You didn’t wanna come sit with us?”

Buck shrugs. “I’m fine over here.”

“Buck,” Maddie sighs, “you can’t keep doing this.”

“Maddie, for fuck’s sake,” he throws his utensils down with a clatter, “don’t you get that it’s not up to you?”

Maddie’s mouth drops in shock. “Buck—“

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he snaps, and stands, grabbing his cane with more force than necessary and leaving before he says something he regrets.

\--

_“Eddie, Christopher needs you.”_

_“I miss you all the time.”_

_“Eddie, I need a partner.”_

He wakes with a start, heart pounding and temples sweaty. He can still hear Shannon’s voice ringing in his ears, can still see Christopher’s smile in his mind’s eye. It’s been almost a week since Bobby’s revelation, and still nothing’s been decided about their families.

He’s getting tired of waiting.

He rolls out of his hammock, sees Buck’s already empty. Chimney’s still dragging clothes on in the corner, yawning as he pulls his trousers over his skinny hips, hair sticking up at all angles.

Eddie digs around for his shirt, rifling through the trunk he shares with Buck until he pulls out something that’ll fit him. He yanks it over his head, shoves his arms through and passes a hand through his hair and calls that good enough.

“You going to breakfast?” Chimney asks.

Eddie grunts, nods, doesn’t really want to speak. Chimney shrugs, leads the way out of the bunks and doesn’t press Eddie for more.

The mess is full to the brim when they get there, and Maddie waves them over. He sits next to Buck, who pushes a plate his way, sausage links and eggs today, and accepts the cup of water he gives him, too. He raises an eyebrow.

“You’re in a good mood.”

Buck shrugs, quirks a little smile at him. “It’s a new day, huh?”

Eddie snorts. “Sure is.”

He shoves a forkful of eggs in his mouth, ignores the chatter going on around him. Buck definitely seems more chipper than he was the day before, cane nowhere in sight, though he’s avoiding Maddie’s gaze like it’s a sport. He’s glad Buck’s leg feels better—he didn’t love seeing him so hurt.

Hen sits across from him, pushing her eggs around her plate with a dour set to her mouth. She meets his eye, twists her mouth in a silent _me too_ at the look he knows is plastered over his face like a bulletin.

“I think I’m in the kitchen again, today,” Buck’s saying, and he sprays a little as he talks. It would be funny if Eddie felt like laughing.

Maddie frowns. “Does your leg still hurt?”

“No,” Buck says, to Chimney on Hen’s other side, “not as much as yesterday, anyway, but I don’t want to overdo it.”

“That’s smart,” Maddie tells him, leans over to try and meet his eye. Buck looks straight down into the massacre he’s made of his breakfast.

Silence falls around the table when Buck doesn’t answer, and it’s awkward. Eddie focuses on tearing off chunks of sausage with his teeth, and finishes his breakfast quickly.

Bobby’s waiting for him by the door when he goes to leave, Hen and Buck a step behind him.

“I’d like to have a word with you guys after dinner,” he says, and directs his gaze towards Hen, “I’ve talked to Chimney, and we’re going to go after your families, but we need a strategy. One that minimizes loss of life.”

This is directed at Eddie, who feels speechless. “Really?”

Bobby smiles, his grey eyes kind. “Really. After dinner, don’t be late.”

\--

There’s a storm brewing on the horizon. It hasn’t reached them yet, still miles away, but with nothing but the sea and sky, it’s easy to see.

The sky above them is clear and blue still, but Eddie can see angry, dark clouds accumulating like smoke. The wind’s already picking up.

“Do you think this’ll delay us any?” He asks. Buck shrugs, mouth relaxed but eyes a little grim.

“It’ll depend how bad it gets,” he says, “doesn’t look good, from here.”

Eddie sighs, ties another knot. Buck watches him, hands slack around the rope he’s supposed to be tying down.

“Eddie,” he murmurs, leaning in to look at him with earnest eyes, “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I know, I just,” Eddie takes a breath, looks down at the length of rope in his hands, “I haven’t seen him in a year, and when I didn’t know when I’d see him again—it didn’t hurt _less_ , but it wasn’t as present. Now all I can think about is getting there, making sure he’s safe.”

“I get it,” Buck says, and hesitates. Eddie looks up at him, and Buck huffs a little sigh out of his nose, ties off his rope, and wraps his arms around Eddie’s shoulders.

He’s startled, at first, can’t help stiffening a little, can’t remember the last time he hugged someone. But Buck smells like salt and sweat and lye, and his chest expands against Eddie’s, and it’s all too easy to relax into him, wrap his arms around Buck’s waist and breathe him in.

He spreads his hands over Buck’s back, can’t help wanting to touch as much of him as he can. He can feel the way Buck exhales across his neck, breath hot and damp and leaving goosebumps in its wake. The breeze ruffles his hair, and for the first time since they kicked off, Eddie doesn’t feel like the world is ending.

Buck pulls back, but doesn’t let him go, has a hand on his neck and the other on his shoulder. “I know this is hard, but we’re all here for you. We’re going to get Chris and Karen, and then we’ll figure out what’s next. But we can’t control the weather. Just breathe, we’ll get there.”

\--

By dinner, it’s pouring with rain. Eddie’s soaked and frustrated by the time he and Buck stumble into the mess—and Buck does stumble, the floor slick with rain and not allowing him to get any real traction in his boots. Eddie shakes his head like a dog, spraying water everywhere, and Maddie yelps, sitting at the table by the door waiting for them, somehow bone dry.

“You guys didn’t want to get a towel?” She asks, eyebrow raised haughtily. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, wavy and shiny and catching light from the torches on the wall.

“Didn’t see much point,” Eddie tells her, and shucks his shirt, twisting it and wringing it out, “what’s a towel gonna do for this?”

He flings his wet shirt over his shoulder, doesn’t bother putting it back on. Buck’s looking at him when he looks back up, cheeks flushed oddly and eyes very bright under his wet lashes. Eddie frowns at him, wonders if he really should get Buck a towel so he doesn’t catch his death, but Buck averts his eyes and goes to sit by Maddie before he can suggest it. Eddie follows, drops onto the bench across from them.

Tommy and Sal come in ferrying food a moment later, dumping plates in front of them and then wandering off to set the other places. Hen’s only a step behind them, coming from the bunks with a towel draped over her head, in dry clothes but looking worse for the wear. She drops heavily into the seat next to Eddie, drags her plate towards her and starts eating without saying anything.

Maddie glances over at her, eating methodically, then at Eddie, pushing his food around, and finally at Buck, inhaling his dinner like he’s never seen food before, and sighs. “So how was everybody’s day?”

Eddie snorts. “It’s pouring like armageddon, how do you think it was?”

“Well, before that,” she picks at the bread on her plate, takes a small bite, glances at her brother, “I saw you on the deck, is your leg feeling better?”

“It’s fine,” Buck says, shoves another spoonful in his mouth and avoids her eyes, “it’s fine.”

Maddie heaves a sigh, and doesn’t make any more attempts at conversation.

\--

They sit around the table in Bobby’s rooms, a fire burning in the radiator in the corner. His hammock sways on the wall with the porthole, piled high with blankets and pillows embroidered by his stepdaughter, May. There’s a map of the Isles spread out on the table in front of them, and after Hen shows the port where her wife lives, Eddie nods—his son’s not too far from there.

“Here,” he says, pointing, “about two miles from Galena.”

“How long would you say it would take you to get there from Bridgewater?” Bobby asks, a small furrow between his brows as he concentrates.

Eddie sighs. “It’ll depend if I can get a horse.”

“Are we really considering sending you that far inland?” Maddie asks, wringing her hands. “It’s _dangerous_ , and you’re wanted for crimes against the crown and deserting.”

“Well I’m not staying here,” Eddie says, aware that it comes out a bit harsh, “I’m going to get my son, come hell or high water.”

“Then someone should go with you,” Maddie says, glancing at Bobby for support.

Eddie shakes his head. “No, it’ll be easier if it’s just me.”

“Wait, Eddie, you can’t go alone, are you kidding?” Buck interrupts, looking a little frantic, “that’s not safe, can’t I go with you?”

“Buck, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Bobby says, gently. Eddie looks between them.

“I can help him,” Buck insists, “he needs someone to have his back.”

“Eddie can do it,” Bobby tells him, “we need you aboard.”

“What do you need me for here that’s more important than getting Eddie’s kid?”

“It’s a lot of walking,” Maddie interjects, looking nervous, “I don’t think—“

“Maddie, it’s fine,” Buck says, “Right, Eddie? It’d be fine.”

“Buck—“ Eddie sighs through his nose, “I don’t—“

“We’d have to get a horse anyway, so it’s not like I’d be walking the whole way, and—“

“Buck, _stop_ ,” Eddie snaps, and it comes out mean, “you can’t go, you’d just slow us down, and I can’t risk my son’s life to feed your ego.”

Buck’s eyes are very blue where he’s staring at Eddie, wide and hurt, mouth slack with surprise at the verbal slap in the face. He doesn’t say anything else, just stands and leaves Bobby’s chamber into the raging storm outside.

“That was way harsh, Eddie,” Hen says, and stands to follow Buck, “he just wanted to help you.”

“What did you want me to say? ‘Sure, tag along, what could go wrong?’”

“No,” Hen says, shakes her head, “but you didn’t have to shut him down so completely.”

Eddie sighs, watches her shut the door behind her. Maddie and Chimney exchange a look with Bobby.

“Eddie—“

“Can we just focus on the task at hand?” He asks, rubs his brow with a shaking hand. “Please, I just—I’ll apologize later.”

Bobby sighs, nodding. “Okay, here’s the plan…”

\--

Eddie knows he has to apologize to Buck, knows he can’t let this linger between them until they get to shore, and definitely not after Eddie leaves. He goes looking for him after the meeting in Bobby’s cabin adjourns, leaves Maddie and Chimney behind to discuss something he’s not privy to, and ventures into the pouring rain and howling wind.

He’s soaked within seconds, which is frustrating, because he feels like he just got dry, and he can barely see through the rain. The waves roil up around them, crashing violently against the sides of the boat and dousing the deck intermittently. Eddie struggles towards the door to the bunks, closes the door behind him after fighting with the wind for it. He’s panting, slumps against it to catch his breath for a moment, before he descends the stairs.

“I’m just tired, Hen.”

He stops before he reaches the bottom, Buck’s voice low in what must be a basically empty room. The others usually hang around the mess after dinner, so he’s not surprised no one’s made it back yet.

“Buck, I know, we’ve all been there—but this would be so much easier if you’d just as for help once in a while.” Hen’s voice is soothing and soft, and Eddie feels vaguely guilty about eaves dropping but doesn’t want to go back out into the storm.

“I can’t do that—you _know_ I can’t do that.”

“Why, because asking for help is admitting weakness?”

“Yes!”

“Buck, that’s insane.”

“Maybe to you, but the _first_ thing people see is my leg. They see me limp and think ‘poor, useless, broken thing’, and I won’t ask for help and validate that for them.”

“No one thinks that.”

“Don’t they? You heard Eddie. He barely knows me but he thinks I’m useless. You all talk a big talk about me being the same as you and being capable right up until it’s time for me to actually do something and then it’s all ‘Buck it’s too heavy’ or ‘Buck you’re too slow’ or ‘Buck you’re so selfish for wanting to help your friend despite the fact that you’re in constant pain’.”

Eddie hears Hen sigh, feels tight in his chest listening to Buck work himself up. “Buck, Eddie doesn’t really think that of you—he’s just scared, and lashed out. I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

“Maybe.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, and Eddie waits a moment. Climbs the stairs as quietly as he can, opens the door and slams it again as loud as he can. He clomps down the stairs, lets his boots leave heavy prints and makes as much noise as he can on the way down. He makes eye contact with Hen first when he reaches the bottom, her eyebrow raised skeptically at him.

“Oh,” he says, clears his throat and hopes he’s not red in the face, heart pounding against his ribs, “I didn’t realize—I was looking for Buck, um—“

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Hen says, smirk widening her mouth, but her eyes still hard, “Work it out, Eddie.”

He nods at her, watches her disappear through the door that connects to the other dormitory. He turns his eyes back on Buck, who’s propped against the wall next to the porthole, bad leg stretched in front of him. He’s watching Eddie, doesn’t say anything while Eddie flounders.

Finally, Eddie sighs, reaches a hand up to rub the back off is neck where the water’s dripping out of his wet hair. “I’m sorry for being an asshole back there—I didn’t mean it.”

Buck shrugs. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s—” Eddie huffs, frustrated, “It’s not okay, I shouldn’t have said that to you like that. You just wanted to help, I was a dick.”

“Okay,” Buck says, looks at him oddly, “what do you want me to say, Eddie?”

“Say we’re okay,” Eddie says, and refuses to admit it’s begging. Buck’s mouth quirks in a little smile, his eyes still sad.

“We’re okay.”

\--

The port they pull up in is much smaller than the one they restock from. They have to lower the sails to anchor in deeper waters, which means goodbyes are said on the boat. Hen, Chimney, and Eddie will go down alone, and Hen and Chimney will get Hen’s family. They only live up the cliff side, less than three hours ride from the port. It’ll be easy to get her wife and son on the boat without drawing attention.

Eddie’s son, however, lives farther inland. Eddie estimates about three days ride _if_ he can procure a horse. If not—it’ll take him twice that long on foot.

He’ll have to get a horse for the way back, at the very least. There’s no way an eight year old would be able to walk six days straight.

“Remember, you have two weeks,” Bobby’s saying, and Eddie looks up a him as he secures the ties to his pack. He has enough gold to get a horse and food, but he won’t be staying in inns unless he can’t avoid it. “Two weeks, Eddie. We won’t be able to dock for longer than a day, so if you’re late—you’ll be on your own.”

Eddie nods, feels solemn. “I know.”

There’s not much more to say. They clasp arms, Bobby’s mouth set grimly and his eyes determined, a sharp, icy grey.

Maddie’s waiting when he pulls back from Bobby, eyes shining in a way that makes Eddie’s heart squeeze. She grabs his jaw, hands tiny, and plants a kiss on his cheek. Still holding on, she pulls back to look him in the eye.

“You be careful,” she tells him firmly, “ and don’t you _dare_ be late.”

He gives her a smile. “Don’t worry about me too much.”

“I’m not the one you should be saying that to,” she says, and Eddie’s smile falters, eyes flicking above her head to where Buck’s waiting his turn, trying and failing to look casual.

Maddie releases his jaw, pats him gently on the cheek, and goes to say goodbye to Hen. Buck steps forward, hands dug deep in his pockets and shoulders curled in. His hair looks golden under the sun, curly and windswept, eyes sea blue and bright. Eddie takes it all in, wants to hold this image in his mind while he’s gone.

“Do you have everything you need?” Buck asks, words careful. Eddie sighs through his nose, offers Buck a smile that doesn’t quite reach the unease expanding in his chest.

“I think so,” he murmurs, feels the need to keep this soft and quiet so he can have it all to himself, “there’s plenty of villages along the way, I can buy anything I need.”

“And you’ll be safe?” Buck takes a step closer, eyes earnest and a little fraught. There’s a crinkle between his brows that Eddie wants to smooth out with his fingers.

“Safe as I can be,” he says. “What about you? You gonna survive without me to watch your back?”

Buck’s lips twitch up, the same bright pink as the birthmark over his eye. “I lasted just fine before you came aboard. Somehow, I think I’ll manage just fine this time, too.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to dee for helping me plot this chapter
> 
> find me on tumblr @michaelgrantnash

The farther Eddie gets from the dock, the more uneasy he becomes.

The terrain changes slowly, low scrubby bushes and heather exchanged for tall trees and thick grass and mushrooms and bramble and vines. The call of gulls, lowing and wide, turning into the twinkling sound of sparrows and the patter of woodpeckers.

It’s darker here, and quieter, the roar of the ocean a distant memory, light filtering through the trees as Eddie walks briskly along the dirt road that’s been paved through the forrest. Without a map, he’ll have to keep a steady pace in order to make it back to the boat on time—getting lost isn’t so much a possibility as it is an inevitability, which is why he has a few days built into his time frame, but it’s not a _lot_. Especially if he can’t find a horse, because Christopher’s pace will be much, much slower than his.

Eddie doesn’t like the forrest. On the open ocean, threats are easily perceivable and prepared for. Here, where the trees tower over him, every crack of a branch makes him jump.

He gets passed by large merchant carriages a few times the first day, steps off the road so they can pass and takes a second to calm his racing heart, unused to the rattling and clattering that seems to shake the whole world as they go by.

He kind of regrets not bringing Buck.

Despite knowing it would be a longer journey with him, he thinks it probably would have been less nerve-wracking to have someone to watch his back. Buck’s huge, and he thinks that would probably be a deterrent even with the limp.

Day two is much the same, but by day three he’s gotten used to the rumble like approaching thunder and doesn’t have to pause as long on the side of the road before he can continue on behind the carriages.

He thinks of Christopher when he breaks for meals. Builds a small fire in the low light of dusk and sits with a crust of bread and a lick of salted beef and a small portion of dried apple and thinks of his son.

Wonders how big he’s grown.

Wonders if Eddie’s mother’s been teaching him to read and write

Wonders if he’s seen the sea at all since Eddie left.

Eddie’s mother never loved that Eddie married a siren, never loved that they moved so far from them so Shannon could be close to the sea.

The only thing she had to say when he came crawling back, asking her and his father to look after Christopher, was ‘I told you so’. Was ‘we knew the siren would bring you trouble’. Was ‘if only you had listened’.

And he wishes he had other options, that he had someone else to protect Christopher, who would treat his mother with the dignity she deserves, and help him practice his song, and let him exist between both worlds, but he didn’t.

He can’t wait to see what she’ll say when he shows up on their doorstep again, out of the blue and with no word for a full year.

He’s so deep in thought, munching carefully on the bread in his hand, that he doesn’t see them coming.

\--

When Eddie finally comes to, he’s in a dark room, on a bed. There’s pain lancing up his side, and when he looks down, he sees someone’s bandaged his chest. His wound has bled through a little, a dark, wine colored spot standing out starkly on an otherwise white swath of cloth. He presses a hand over it, groans when the ache twists into something sharper, lets his head fall back against the pillow.

He can’t stay here. He doesn’t know where he is, but he has to leave.

He takes a deep, careful breath, testing the expanse of his lungs, then another, steeling himself, and with a hand bracing the wound in his side, he struggles into a sitting position.

He’s sweating by the time his feet touch the floor, has to tip his head back and breathe around the nausea that’s crept up his throat. He reaches his free hand out for the bed post, uses it to leverage himself up onto his feet and clutches it tightly so he doesn’t lose his balance.

He looks around, sees a chair in one corner with fresh pants and a shirt draped over the back, looks down at himself and realizes for the first time that he’s not wearing anything but his underwear.

He groans—one more task he has to complete before he fights his way out of here.

There’s no windows in this room, just a torch on one wall that’s burned down to ember, and a fireplace on the other that hasn’t been lit. There’s a scratchy woven rug under his feet, a tapestry he can’t make out above the bed, and a chest of drawers that’s missing one leg.

He takes a few shuffling steps, trying to keep his breaths even so he doesn’t agitate the wound in his side. He stumbles over to the chair, falls against the walls and breathes for a moment so he doesn’t vomit on his fresh clothes.

Dragging his pants on is agony—so much so that he forgoes the shirt, can’t fathom lifting his arms above his head to slip it on. He leaves it on the chair, makes his way over to the door at a glacial pace.

It doesn’t occur to him until he’s in the hall that he has no weapon, no money, and is severely limited in his mobility. He’s not going to win any fights like this, so his best bet is to get out undetected.He edges forward as quietly and carefully as he can.

He ends up not making it very far.

A man comes out of the corridor ahead, tall, with brown hair that sticks straight up in the front. His nose is slightly crooked, brown eyes widening in surprise when he catches sight of Eddie leaning against the wall.

“What are you doing?” He asks, incredulous, and hurries forward. “You’re seriously injured, you shouldn’t be wandering around.”

Eddie flinches back from his hands when he reaches out to steady him. “Who are you?”

The man raises a brow, looks at him skeptically, but holds out his hands placatingly. “You’re one of those, aren’t you?”

“One of _what_?” Eddie growls.

“An idiot macho man who doesn’t trust anyone even and especially when they try to help you.”

Eddie rears back. “ _Excuse_ me?”

The man rolls his eyes, reaches out to wrap a hand around the arm Eddie’s not using to stabilize his side. “Listen, I’d love to argue with you about this, but you look about two seconds from passing out, so how about we go back to the _bed_ so I don’t have to carry your deadweight back down this hallway—for a second time, by the way—and then I’ll explain.”

Eddie wants to protest, gets halfway to doing it, before he loses steam, a whine escaping him as the man shifts his arm over his shoulders so he can maneuver Eddie back down the hall.

He’s panting heavily by the time the other man lowers him to the bed, sweat dripping down his face and into the curve at the base of his spine.

He lays back against the pillows, clutching his side, and struggles onto his back so his other arm isn’t trapped underneath him. He hears the other man grumbling as he pulls open the drawers in the chest by the chair. He drags the chair over and plunks into it, setting a roll of cloth, a rag,and a bottle of something clear next to Eddie on the bed.

“So I’m Josh,” he says, reaching out to unwrap the bandage from Eddie’s chest. It’s pretty much soaked through with blood, sopping wet and hitting the floor with a slapping sound when Josh finally wrestles it off Eddie’s body. “And you are?”

“Eddie,” Eddie grunts, staring at the ugly gash in his side. It’s been sown up, though a few of the stitches look loose—probably from all the moving around. “Did you do this?”

“Dinah did,” Josh tells him, “she’s got the steadiest hands, but she’s busy so you’re stuck with me for now. Brace yourself.”

He dumps the bottle over the rag, and the smell of alcohol stings Eddie’s nose. He sucks in a breath as Josh presses the wet rag to his wound, a burn spreading and searing his skin like a brand. He holds his breath until Josh finishes cleaning the wound, releases it all in a gust as he removes the bloody rag from his wound and dumps it next to the used bandages on the floor.

“Sit up a bit,” Josh says, and helps him struggle up so Josh can wrap the clean bandage around his chest. He ties it off neatly and tucks the ends, then leans Eddie back so he can lay down.

“Are you going to tell me where I am now?” He asks. “Or how I got here?”

“Do you remember getting attacked on the road?” Josh asks, putting the bottle of alcohol on the floor with the other things and leaning back in his chair. Eddie nods. “My friend and I were coming back from the Wednesday market, found you bleeding on the side of the road.”

“My pack?” Eddie says hoarsely. Josh shakes his head.

“I don’t know what you had with you, but it wasn’t there when we got there,” he sighs, rubs a hand over his jaw, “most people know not to travel the King’s Road alone.”

“I’m not from here,” Eddie says, glaring at him. Josh snorts.

“Yeah, I gathered as much.”

Eddie shifts, rolls his eyes. “I can’t stay here.”

“You can’t walk,” Josh points out, “where do you think you’re going to go?”

“Galena,” Eddie says, “or close enough.”

“No way,” Josh replies, “That’s still two days walk from here, you’d be lucky to make it to the door.”

Eddie breathes carefully through his nose, feels anger rising hot and heavy in his lungs. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You’re right,” Josh says, “you have to stay here whether you like it or not.”

“ _No_ ,” Eddie growls, “I have to _go_.”

“What is so important to you that you’re willing to risk your life to go get it?” Josh demands, an annoyed little furrow cinching the space between his brows.

“My son,” Eddie snaps. Josh raises a brow. “I was on my way to get my son. I only have six days to get him back. ”

Josh sighs, brown eyes sad. “I’m sorry, I don’t think you’re going to make it.”

\--

A young woman brings him dinner, brown skirts and brown hair and blue eyes. He struggles to sit up and takes the tray she offers him, a thick soup and a crust of bread and tankard of ale that smells sour. She checks his bandages with small hands.

“Are you Dinah?” He asks. She nods, quirks a brow at him. He gestures at where she’s prodding his stitches. “Thanks for this.”

She gives him a little smile. “Don’t thank me yet, you’ve pulled a few of your stitches. I’ll be back to redo them after dinner.”

He winces. “Do you have to?”

“Yes,” she pulls his bandage back into place and places her hands on her hips, “unless you want it to reopen and bleed everywhere.”

“I guess not,” he grumbles, shoots her a look under his lashes, “would you mind sending Josh back in? I had a question for him.”

She sighs. “Sure, but drink that whole tankard. I won’t have you writhing around while I’m stitching you back together.”

She leaves swiftly, shuts the door with a quiet _snick_.

He eats steadily, finishes the meal quickly once he realizes how hungry he was, especially since he’d been eating whatever he’d brought with him on the road. The ale dulls the pain in his side a bit, no longer sharp and biting.

Josh comes in not long after he’s done, takes the tray from him without a word and places it on the floor. He takes the chair by Eddie’s bedside again, gestures for him to speak.

“The clothes I came in in,” Eddie says, “where are they?”

“They were ruined,” Josh says, “Linda and Dinah both did everything they could to clean the blood out but—there was just so much.”

Eddie swallows. “Did you find a pendent in one of the pockets?”

“Oh,” Josh says, and digs around his pants for a minute before pulling out a chain, “I forgot about this.”

Eddie takes it carefully, runs a hand over the coin-sized face of St Christopher. “Thank you.”

“What is it?” Josh asks.

“My wife had it made for me when our son was born,” Eddie answers, “it’s the only thing I have left of her.”

“I’m sorry,” Josh murmurs.

It’s quiet between them for a moment, the air turning somber. Finally, Eddie sighs, puts the chain around his neck and presses it to his heart.

He looks at Josh. “What is this place, anyway?”

“The Dragonfly Inn,” he says, looks proud, straightens in his seat and puffs out his chest a little, “I own it.”

“Do you get a lot of foot traffic through here?” Eddie asks casually, hopes his tone of voice doesn’t betray the way his heart’s kicked up a notch. Josh shrugs.

“Not really. We get enough to stay afloat but it’s mostly just people stopping in for lunch on their way into Heliena.”

Eddie swallows. “A lot of military folk? Or mostly travelers?”

“Mostly travelers,” Josh narrows his eyes, gives him a shrewd look, “The military’s been quartering in people’s houses these days. The king prefers to keep an eye on his citizens. Why do you ask?”

“Because I want to know if I’m safe here,” Eddie says bluntly. Josh heaves a heavy sigh.

“Why do you think I put you in the one room without a window? I could tell just by looking at you that you had something to hide.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“It means you look like you spend a lot of time in the sun,” Josh says, unperturbed, “and you had defensive wounds all over your body, so you’re obviously trained in combat. You’re not a farmer, are you?”

“No,” Eddie growls, hackles up. Josh rolls his eyes.

“Stand down, Pirate Pete, nobody’s gonna rat you out.”

Eddie glares at him. “I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”

“Yeah,” Josh says, and stands, bending to gather Eddie’s tray, “or don’t. You’re stuck here either way.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Dinah comes back in without waiting for a reply from either of them. She raises an eyebrow at the way Eddie’s still glaring at Josh. She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t ask.

“Move,” she says, shooing him away so she has room to work by Eddie’s bedside. She places her armload on the mattress, fresh bandages and thread, a big needle, a jar of something sticky. “Lie down and lift your arm above your head.”

Eddie does as he’s told, lifts his arm so she can cut away his bandages and snip carefully through his stitches. He bites his lip, wound stinging and throbbing as she threads the needle, dragging it through his skin with tight, precise stitches. She bites the thread off when she’s done, ties it with careful fingers, then open the jar and spreads the paste over his wound. It’s foul smelling, and tingles, and she whispers a word over it before she and Josh help him sit up to rewrap his bandages.

“What was that stuff?” Eddie asks. Dinah snorts.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”

Eddie looks at her carefully. “You’re a witch?”

She shrugs, eyes sharp. “My mother was. I don’t know nearly as much as she did, but I know enough.”

“Thank you,” he says. She gives him a shrewd look.

“This doesn’t surprise you,” she notes, and Eddie sees Josh glance at her.

“Should it?”

She tilts her head, hands moving to close the jar without breaking eye contact with him. Her eyes are bright even in the low light, and Eddie thinks perhaps she knows more than she’s let on. “Not many people recognize magic so easily.”

She stares him down. Eddie glances between her and Josh, who helped him without asking for anything in return, and makes a decision to trust them. “My wife was a siren. We had a son together. This isn’t my first time around.”

“Oh, Eddie,” Josh sighs, drops heavily into the seat he’d vacated to allow Dinah space to work, “That’s why you’re so desperate to go get him.”

“I have to protect him,” Eddie says. Dinah looks shaken, glances at Josh with worried eyes, hands white knuckled around the jar she’s still holding.

“You know he might—“ she swallows, gives him a sympathetic look, “he might not still be there. People have been disappearing all over the place, not being full-blooded is no guarantee anymore.”

“I have to go anyway,” Eddie insists, “I have to know. If he’s not there—I have to go get him.”

“Who’s your captain?” Josh asks abruptly. “He sanctioned this?”

“Yes,” Eddie says, “Bobby Nash.”

“Of The Penance?” Dinah asks, and she looks at Josh again, who’s suddenly sat forward, looking engaged.

“Yes?” Eddie feels nervous, unsure what’s happening here.

“You don’t know an Evan Buckley, do you?” Says Josh, “Goes by Buck? Or his sister, Maddie?”

Eddie narrows his eyes, feels his heart constricting. “Why?”

Josh and Dinah exchange another look. “No reason—we go way back, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. He doesn’t know what else to say. Josh is still looking at him, brown eyes assessing.

“Where did you say your son was?”

“He’s with my parents,” Eddie tells him, heart pounding, hope clawing up his throat, “outside of Galena. Ramon and Helena Diaz.”

“That’s only a few hours ride from here,” Dinah says quietly, looking at Josh, “You could be there and back in a day.”

Eddie sits up quickly, head swimming and side throbbing. “You’d let me borrow a horse?”

“No,” Josh tells him, eyes not quite seeing Eddie. He looks contemplative, like his mind is already forming a plan. “You can’t ride with your wound. But I could.”

\--

Chris loves to help in the garden. Abuela lets him do the digging, and she never gets mad when he gets messy like Grandma used to.

He’s outside with her and his Pepa when the horse approaches, pulling weeds from the flowerbeds outside the house and sorting them into neat piles; Abuela uses some of them for her healing, and some for her cooking. She says everything has a purpose, and nothing should go to waste.

They don’t get many visitors, other than the milkman, this far outside of the town, so when the sound of hoofbeats shatters the quiet around them, Abuela makes him stand and hurries him into the house. His Pepa waits outside, and Christopher stands under the open window to listen. There’s a breeze coming through and making the curtains flutter; they tickle his forehead. Pepa spent two weeks embroidering them for his Abuela’s birthday.

“Can I help you?” He hears his Pepa say. She sounds calm and firm, like when he doesn’t want to practice his reading.

“Is this the Diaz residence?” A man answers. He sounds breathless, he must have been riding hard. Christopher peeks over the edge of the window sill to see if he can catch a glimpse of him. He frowns. All he can see from this angle is his Pepa.

“Who’s asking?” She says, and her hands are on her hips. Christopher can she her skirts moving with the breeze. Suddenly, she takes a step back, gasping loud enough fro Christopher to hear, her hands dropping from her hips to press to her heart. “Where did you get that?”

“My name is Josh Russo,” the man tells her, and he must offer her something, because she reaches a hand out and accepts whatever he’s holding, “I own the Dragon Fly Inn, and your son, Eddie, sent me to come get Christopher.”

“Eddie is my nephew,” Pepa says, and Christopher thinks she might be crying. The man makes a confused noise.

“I was told this was Ramon and Helena’s residence?”

“It was,” Pepa tells him, “they left a few months ago to help their daughter in Portsmouth. My mother and I stayed with Christopher.”

“So he’s here?” The man asks, and Pepa nods. He steps forward, pale-skinned and brown-haired, taller than his Pepa, but he stops when she puts a hand on his chest.

“Where is Eddie?”

The man’s face twists, mouth curving downward. “He’s at my inn. He was injured on the road, on his way here.”

“Injured?” Pepa’s shoulders are tense, voice strained. Christopher’s heart kicks up; Pepa never sounds scared.

“He was traveling the King’s Road alone,” the man tells her, “we patched him up, but he wasn’t well enough to come on his own, and he’s on a bit of a time limit.”

Pepa’s silent a moment, and Christopher waits as she watches the man. “You’d better come in, then.”

Christopher scrambles away from the window, doesn’t want to be caught snooping. Pepa leads the man through the door, calling for Abuela, who comes out of the back room.

“What’s going on?” She asks, and Pepa leads her over to a chair to explain. When she’s finished, Abuela looks up at the man. “We will come with you.”

“Do you have a horse?” The man asks, “It’ll take too long walking.”

“We have a mule,” Abuela says, “it’ll do.”

Pepa turns to look at Christopher, who’s been watching this unfold from the side of the room. “Go back a bag, Christopher.”

\--

_The sand is hot beneath Eddie’s bare feet, and he walks quickly to where the waves crash upon the shore. Christopher is heavy on his hip, giggling and patting Eddie’s chest with his chubby baby hands._

_The instant his feet touch wet sand, he feels soothed. The roar of crashing waves engulfs his senses, the smell of the sea salty and hot. The water races up around him, laps at his ankles as he walks deeper into the surf. Christopher squeals as Eddie bends to splash him with his hands, blue eyes big and round and hair bright and golden in the sun._

_“Christopher!” A voice rings out, and Eddie straightens to see Shannon rising above the waves. Her hair is soaked and plastered along her neck and back, her skin shining in a way Eddie has always associated with life. Christopher screeches, wriggling in Eddie’s arms and reaching for his mother._

_Eddie takes a few more steps, the water rising around his waist before he finally reaches her. She gives him a brilliant smile, teeth sharp and white in her red red mouth. Eddie’s only seen her true form a few times, after she’s returned from visiting her mother below. He thinks it should frighten him, her sharp teeth and sharp eyes, her pale skin and odd beauty, flushed in her cheeks and her breasts bare, but it doesn’t. He knows her. He knows her heart._

_And he hands it to her, beating and writhing, legs fat and cheeks pink from being in the sun. He looks like his mother._

_\--_

Eddie wakes sweaty and breathless. His cheeks are damp, and his eyes feel hot and sting when he presses a knuckle to clear them.

The torch in the corner has gone out, leaving the room pitch black. Eddie gathers his strength, struggles out of bed with a hand bracing his side. He goes by feel to the door, opens it to let light in from the torches in the hall.

He hobbles back to the bed, collapses on his stomach and doesn’t bother trying to roll over to release the arm he’s trapped under him. The inn is quiet, so it must be late, and he wonders how much longer Josh will be gone. If he’s found Christopher. If he’s given up and come back empty-handed, unable to face Eddie.

Dinah brought him dinner hours earlier, sat with him quietly while he ate, didn’t press him to talk though he knows he mustn’t have been very good company.

He still feels heavy with sleep, chest warm and tight and head full, the dream he’d been having still just beyond his reach. He breathes deeply, lets himself sink deeper into the mattress and tries to go back to that place, where he was happy and his wife was alive and his son was in his arms.

He’s on the brink, eyes shut and breath even, when he hears a noise. He doesn’t move, holds his breath and listens carefully, wide awake now. It sounds like footsteps, though there’s more than Eddie would have expected if it was Josh returning with Christopher. He hears a whisper, and a reply, and then he does sit up, heart pounding, because—

“No, I want to see my dad _now_.”

And Eddie can’t breathe, because it’s been a year since he’s heard that voice, and it’s just the same, hasn’t changed at all, and he struggles to his feet for the second time that night, shuffles as fast as he can to the door. He braces himself against the doorway, feels his knees giving out, because there, with his abuela and his aunt and Josh, is his son.

His eyes are burning again, and he doesn’t try to hold it back this time, lets the tears spill over his eyelids and down his cheeks, seeping into the seam of his mouth and dripping off his chin as he falls to his knees on the floor.

“Christopher,” he rasps out, and the four of them look up, seeing him in the dim light of the hall. His abuela gasps, and Eddie realizes suddenly that he probably looks pretty rough, bandage on display and a bit bloody after Dinah stitched him up again, but he can’t care, because Christopher is clacking towards him on his crutches at top speed.

He falls into Eddie with an “oof”, both of them releasing a harsh breath as they crash together, and Eddie’s in pain but he doesn’t care, wraps his arms tight around Christopher’s middle and breathes him in. Christopher’s arms are like vices around Eddie’s neck, skinny but stronger than he remembers, and he’s warm and soft all the way down.

Eddie chokes on a laugh, tears still streaming down his cheeks. Christopher huffs his own laugh directly into his ear.

“Hi, daddy.”


End file.
